


The Wizard and the Maiden

by Fionavar



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Beware, F/M, Gen, Overgrown oneshot, fairytale AU, spoilers all over the place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionavar/pseuds/Fionavar
Summary: The wizard bargained with the living shadows for the knowledge that would free himself and his brother from the witch. But nobody ever makes one deal with the living shadows, and the price will become heavy. A fairytale AU of 707's route, including major spoilers for that and the Secret Endings.





	The Wizard and the Maiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dakoyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/gifts).



Once upon a time, in a land very different from this, there was a hut where a witch lived. She had hoped to become queen, but her spell had only ensnared the fickle king for a night, and so all she had in the world were her two sons. They were twins, with hair as red as flames and eyes as gold as a low moon, but she did not love them. Instead, she poured out upon them all her anger at her failed plan, all the cruelty of her withered heart, and all the torments her mind could devise. She cared not if they lived or died.

The younger twin, whose name was Saeran, was weaker than his brother Saeyoung. I cannot say if this was because the witch preferred him as a victim, or if she dealt with him more severely because he was not strong.  She girdled him around with spells and chains, imprisoning him in the hut with her. When she wanted food, or ingredients for her spells and potions, or the glass of madness, she sent out Saeyoung, the older twin. In this way, Saeyoung learned something of the world outside the witch’s hut. He saw that there was beauty, and kindness, and freedom, and mothers who loved their sons, and more; and all these things, he would whisper to Saeran at night.

“We must endure,” Saeyoung promised his brother. “I will grow stronger, and when I am strong enough, I will break her chains, and then we will walk out into the sunlight together, and nobody will ever hurt you again.”

And Saeran believed him, because he loved him, and he repeated Saeyoung’s promises to himself as a comfort whenever he was hungry, or thirsty, or in pain.

And so the long years passed, and the twins suffered, and Saeyoung searched for some way to free them both.

Now, one of the places Saeyoung had learned of beauty was the great church on the hill, whose windows blazed with glorious rainbow colours, and where he could hear many voices raised in song; and there he had learned of a God, who loved him as his mother would not; and there he had learned of kindness from a beautiful girl and the man she loved, who sometimes gave him bread he could share with Saeran. Every time Saeyoung returned to the great church, the girl and the man won more of his trust, and more of his story, until they wanted to free the twins almost as badly as the twins longed for freedom.

The man was an artist, whose eyes were quick to see beauty and whose hands were sure in creating it. He loved his work, but not as fiercely as he loved the girl, whose name was Rika. He was not alone, for Rika was great of heart, and all who saw her loved her. Her heart was sensitive to the suffering of others, and she dreamed bright dreams wherein all the evil of the world was unmade. She was not an enchantress, or even a witch, but she possessed a small power, and some knowledge, and so it was that she and the artist spoke to Saeyoung one morning by the great church.

“Rika,” Saeyoung asked, “what is that big book you are carrying?”

“It is a book of the living shadows,” said Rika. “The living shadows know everything, for no man keeps a secret from his shadow. Anyone may call upon them, for in their awful neutrality, they draw no lines between good and evil; they will share their information with any who will pay the price of their choosing.”

“They can tell me how to break my mother’s spells and chains?”

“Yes,” the artist said, and his face was tired, and sad, and afraid, as that of one who is helpless to stay the life’s blood draining from his breast. “But they will ask much, and what you give them will be theirs forever. There may dawn a day you curse us for setting you on this path.”

“No price could be too great,” Saeyoung said, afire with hope and clutching the book to his thin chest. “I would give my life to render Saeran free and safe.”

“I know,” Rika said, and her smile was like winter sunlight. “If this is what you want, the book will tell you all you need to learn, and we will answer any question we can.”

Saeyoung threw himself at their feet, and thanked them from the depths of his heart. Rika laughed, and the artist raised him back up, and Saeyoung ran back to the hut, impatient to open the book of the living shadows and learn how to free himself and his brother.

There was little room in the witch’s hut for the brothers to keep a secret, and Saeyoung came to believe that God must be protecting them now. It took him a month of stolen moments to read the book of the living shadows, but the witch never came upon him unexpectedly or learned of the book’s existence. Once Saeran broke a glass of madness in front of the witch’s eyes, to give Saeyoung time to hide the book away. He was beaten viciously for it, but he counted that a small price to pay. There was hope: he no longer believed the witch could kill him before Saeyoung could free them.

As Saeyoung washed his brother’s wounds with his tears, he thought of all he had learned. The book was full of terrible warnings – warnings that he had not shared with Saeran, because he did not want his brother to know there was a price, or ask to pay it. Some who had dealt with the living shadows had given their eyes, or their voice, or their memories – and very few had ever made only one bargain with them. Once the door between the summoner and the living shadows had been opened, they were always about the one who had called them. They offered more, and asked more, until the summoner had nothing left to bargain with, and gave their very being, and became one of the living shadows themselves.

The book said nothing of what it was like to be a living shadow, but sometimes Saeyoung dreamed about it. He was very cold, and as he floated through the world, nobody looked at him. When he called out, nobody heard him. He threw himself through the walls of the witch’s hut until he found Saeran, chained to his bed and crying, and he could not free or comfort his brother, and his brother could not see him. He would wake from those dreams and cling tightly to Saeran, and on those nights he could not read more of the book of the living shadows.

Finally, on an autumn afternoon, as the wind flung dead leaves past the window, Saeyoung read the final line of the book. He knew how to call one of the living shadows to him, and how to ask for the information he needed, and he was afraid. He thought of the expression on the face of the artist whom Rika loved, when she gave him the book. He thought of his dreams. But then he looked at his brother, pale and thin and sickly, and his heart burnt bright with determination. All he wanted – all he had ever wanted - was to protect Saeran, to get him free of their mother. One piece of information only… he would not become a living shadow if he made only one bargain. He could do it. He would do it.

“I’m going to do it,” he whispered to Saeran, in the cold depths of that autumn night.

His twin flung his arms around his neck, and his voice was trembling with faith, and with hope, and with trust. “Where will we go, once we’re free?”

“Everywhere,” Saeyoung promised, hugging Saeran tight. “Anywhere we want. She’ll never touch us again.”

“I want to see the sky,” Saeran whispered. “I want to watch the clouds, and count the stars –“

“Soon,” said Saeyoung. “I have to go call the living shadows, but I’ll come back, and we’ll leave together – “

“Can’t I come watch?” Saeran asked. “I promise I’ll be quiet. I won’t get in the way.”

Saeyoung hesitated. He wanted Saeran with him, because he was afraid and he loved his brother, but the living shadows were as dangerous as the witch, and he thought they might ask something of Saeran. “Please trust me,” he said. “I don’t want them to see you.”

And Saeran nodded. “Hurry back,” he whispered.

Saeyoung kissed his brother’s cheek. “You know I’ll always come back,” he said, and tried to smile. Then he pulled the book of the living shadows from its hiding place and crept away.

The witch had drunk deep of the glass of madness that night, and slumber held her fast. To the sound of her snores, Saeyoung found a corner where the firelight cast dancing shadows on the wall of the hut, and he turned his back to the light, so that he was staring at his own shadow among them. Then he whispered the words he had learned from the book, and he held out his hand to his shadow.

Its black fingers closed about his, and a cold voice that was his own echoed in Saeyoung’s mind. “What would you know, summoner?”

His tongue lay like ice in his mouth, but he stammered out an answer. “H-How can I free Saeran and myself from the witch?”

There was a sound like laughter from the living shadow, if laughter were mirthless and cold. “This answer will cost your name and your joy.”

“My… my joy?” Saeyoung asked. It didn’t matter what anyone called him, but to surrender the little joy in life he had found was a hard price to pay. He could do it, though, for Saeran.

“Your joy,” the living shadow repeated. “You and your brother will go free, but separately. You will leave here tonight, and you may never see Saeran’s face again. The thought of him will be a scourge to you, and it will poison whatever joy you may find for yourself hereafter.”

To never see Saeran again! Saeyoung felt his heart ache within him at the thought. They were twins, halves of a whole: he needed Saeran as much as Saeran needed him. How could he walk away? How could he refuse and leave them both imprisoned? “How will he be freed?”

“This answer will cost your honesty,” the living shadow told him. “You will wear a mask upon your heart, and place a guard upon your tongue.”

“Yes,” Saeyoung agreed, for this seemed a much smaller thing to lose.

“It is done,” the living shadow sounded in his mind. “The ones who gave you the book of the living shadows will take him away from here. They will hide him from the witch, and teach him as best they can. Eventually, he will love them, and he will be happy with them.”

Saeran would be happy. He would be safe. It would be easier to carve his own heart from his chest than to walk away and never see him again, but he could do it. As long as Saeran was safe…

“I will… I’ll do it. Take my name, take my joy. Only tell me how I can free us from the witch…”

“It is done.” There was a long silence before the living shadow spoke again. “You are a witch’s son, and the elder of twins. There has always been power within you. Come closer, wizard, and learn the use of your magic.”

The boy stepped closer to the living shadow, and its cold lips brushed his ear as it whispered ten thousand arcane secrets. Each planted itself firmly into his mind, impossible to forget, power and knowledge beyond anything he had ever dreamed. He saw the wards the witch had placed upon her hut, which kept Saeran from leaving and prevented anyone from entering to free him, and with a quick gesture of his fingers, shattered them.

Then, slowly, the wizard and his shadow turned and walked away.

Saeran waited in the darkness, his ears straining for the sound of his brother’s returning footsteps, and his eyes burning as he peered into the gloom. His brother’s name was on his lips when at last sleep overtook him.

The witch shook him awake in the morning, demanding to know where his twin had gone. Saeran didn’t know, and he wouldn’t say that his brother had found what he needed to free them from her. He held his silence while the witch beat him, and said nothing when she called him a worthless liar, and he believed that his brother would return for him soon. He clung to that hope as the witch poured torture upon torture upon him, as though it was the food and water she would not give him.

He knew that he was dying. Perhaps, Saeran thought, he would find his brother in that heaven he had talked about. He didn’t want to die, but maybe it had always been the only way out for him. He closed his eyes, curled tighter about his empty and aching stomach, and he waited.

It was not Death who came for him, but Rika and her artist. With the witch’s wards dispelled, with Rika’s own protections set about them, and the cold iron in the artist’s hands, they entered the witch’s hut and threatened her with dissolution should she ever approach Saeran again. They carried him away to safety, and for a time, all was well.

The wizard built himself a tower. To protect his safety and privacy, he surrounded it with a maze of riddles of his own devising, so that only one who had the key, or whose mind was as bright and intricate as his own, could gain access. From the tower, he made use of his ten thousand arcane secrets as seemed best to him. He worked wonders; he dined on delicacies from a hundred kingdoms; he surrounded himself with beauty; he made miracles for those in need of kindness. He made magical servitors and pets – dogs who breathed fire, birds whose songs were spells. He tamed the Four Wonderful Horses: one who was as swift as the wind, one who was as strong as the earth, one who was as dazzling as the sun, and one who was as tireless as the sea. It was a life he could not have imagined before he had called the living shadow, but it felt hollow. He longed for his brother with all his heart.

Since all he knew of Saeran was that Rika and her artist had taken him away from the witch, and for gratitude, he kept in close contact with them. The wizard carved a crystal and shattered it into three shards. One, he gave to Rika, another to the artist, and one he kept for himself. By this means, they were able to hear each other’s voices. Both Rika and the man who loved her had agreed that the wizard had been wise to shield Saeran from the living shadows, and so Saeran’s voice never sounded through the crystal to his brother’s ears, but sometimes they would tell the wizard about him and what he was doing. There were other favours he did for them – gladly, for they were his friends and they were protecting his brother. Slowly, he sold more of himself to the living shadows, until he worked in their service day and night, ate only what they allowed him, and never left his tower.

In those days, Rika was busy with schemes to unmake the evils of the world. She gathered about herself a few, carefully-chosen people, and she asked the wizard to enchant crystal shards for them as well. There was the lord: a driven man who loved nothing more than his cat. There was his chatelaine: a woman who served him faithfully, delivering the perfection he demanded. There was a wandering actor, who was said to be the most handsome man who had ever lived – at least, he said so, and many of those who saw him agreed. There was Rika’s own cousin: an apprentice who whiled away the hours in daydreams of being a warrior. These she chose, and together they arranged grand festivals to which all were invited, so that the rich could meet the poor on equal ground and that their hearts might be moved to help.

All who saw Rika loved her, and many were persuaded by her festivals to help, but it was not enough for her. Those who dream brightly draw attention, and so it was a voice of despair came to her and whispered in her ear. So cleverly it spoke its poison into her mind, that her thoughts echoed with its words, and her heart was changed. When she spoke, her voice was the voice of despair. “The evils of the world are inherent in the world. Let the world itself be unmade, and a kinder one, free of evil, rise in its place.”

The artist saw this change in her, and his fear was of equal measure to his love. He had known for some time that there was a darkness in her, although they hid it from others, and he had begged her to stay with him. He offered himself as a sacrifice to that darkness, lest she turn it upon innocents, or it consume her. Now, with her voice the voice of despair, and her hand set upon destruction, she agreed. She took his eyes, so that her darkness would be all he could see. She left for a hidden fortress in the mountains, and she took Saeran with her.

The artist told those she had gathered that Rika had died, and while the lord, the chatelaine, the actor, the apprentice and the wizard mourned, Rika began raising an army about her. All who saw her loved her, and by speaking in the voice of despair, with knowledge bought from the living shadows with the last of her sanity, and with tortures and potions, she turned the love of her army into idolatry. They were many, and their minds were hers, but they were not enough.

She looked on Saeran – the son of a witch, the younger twin – and she thought of the power that was in him and how she could turn him to her use. She began with her torments and spoke to him in the voice of despair, but these held no sway over Saeran. He had lived in hope for too many years under the witch’s unkind hand. He wept for the friend she had been, and he remembered that Saeyoung had promised to return for him one day, and he endured. Rika drowned him in her potions, and he grew weaker and ill, but his will would not conform to hers. Tiring of his resistance, Rika demanded of the living shadows the knowledge of how to break him.

“This answer will cost your heart,” it said, and Rika agreed without hesitation. The living shadow said in her own, cold voice, “A steadfast heart will hold against all evil. A broken heart is no protection at all. As long as Saeran believes in the love of his brother, he will resist you. Break his heart, and his mind will follow.”

Rika laughed for the simplicity of the solution, and went to the prison cell where Saeran lay. She needed no torture, now, and only one potion –a small one, to silence him for a time and incline him to believe her - and she sat by his cell and talked to him. She spoke of how she pitied him, believing that his faithless brother would return. She spoke of a wizard’s tower, and the wizard who lived there in luxury and never thought of Saeran. She spoke of how she and the artist who loved her had pleaded the wizard to return for his brother, and how he had laughed. When dawn came, Saeran’s broken heart had turned cold, and Rika knew he was hers.

She branded him with her sigil, that of the eye, and made ruthless use of him. Swiftly, he made bargain after bargain with the living shadows, bartering his face, his trust, his peace and his strength for the information Rika desired. His power, too, he used at her direction. Her army’s worship weakened, for they had been lured by the heart Rika no longer possessed, but Saeran’s spells bound them tightly to her again. When she judged him ready, she began the next step in her campaign of destruction: she wished to have the lord, the chatelaine, the actor, and the apprentice answering to her will. As for the wizard, his traitorous brother, Rika had promised that Saeran might take any vengeance upon him that he pleased.

Saeran duplicated the wizard’s spell upon two crystal shards of his own, linking them into his brother’s spell so that he could hear everything. One he kept for himself, and he placed the second into the keeping of a maiden. The living shadows had directed him to her: one who had no magic of her own, one who could win the trust of all of the group Rika had gathered… one who would not be missed when all of them followed Rika to the destruction of the evil world.

Cloaked in the living shadows, he spoke to her through the crystal, and led her to the house where Rika had dwelt before she left for her mountain fortress. The wizard had placed spells about it, but they were as nothing to Saeran. He was the wizard’s twin, and they were blood of the same blood; the magic answered to his hand as readily as they would to their caster’s. He parted the spells of warding, and took control of the spell of destruction the wizard had placed there at Rika’s request. With bleak amusement, he saw there was also a spell of scrying the wizard had placed by the door. It would not see him, and it would not protect the maiden – it was not worth the trouble to destroy or subvert. Everything would obey his magic, and Rika’s will, when the time was right.

The wizard was the first to hear the maiden’s voice. As she spoke hesitantly into the crystal, almost masked by the apprentice bewailing his misfortunes, the wizard knew fear. How had she broken his spells and entered Rika’s house? What manner of attack was this? What did she want? He spoke in the playful absurdities he had affected ever since he had bargained away his honesty, calling the attention of the others to her. As they spoke to the stranger, he tugged at his scrying spell. He saw how she had entered, how his magic had been no bar for her.

He saw also that there was laughter and light in her eyes, and warmth radiating from her smile.  

“Who is she?” he demanded of the living shadows that clustered around him.

“This answer will cost your peace.”

“Speak plainly!”

The cold voice answered, “You will never know true contentment or peace of mind again. Questions and fears will throng your mind, so that you cannot rest by night or by day.”

It was not much for them to ask; the longing for his brother already consumed him. “Let it be so.”

“It is done. She is nobody of importance,” the living shadows answered him. “She has no rank, no living family, and no friends to miss her. She has no magic of her own, only a blessing or a curse laid upon her while she was in her cradle. It is obscured from our knowledge –“

“What?” That made no sense – the living shadows knew everything. Rika had told him so, long ago, and he had asked more obscure things of them before.

“- as is her name,” the living shadows continued. “It is our surmise that these lacunae proceed from the same cause.” It was silent for a moment. “We desire to know more of this. If you should learn it and share it, we would negotiate the correct price for this information, up to and including the return of the prices we have asked of you.”

A second shock, and a more severe contradiction of everything the wizard knew of the living shadows. “I… will see,” he managed to say as his mind raced. If he could find out what they wished to know about the maiden… could he see his brother again?

“We know,” the living shadows said, and the wizard turned back to his crystal. His friends were questioning her, each according to their natures. The chatelaine was suspicious, the lord only a little less so; the apprentice was eager and excited; the actor thought he scented a potential admirer; and all were caught up in the mystery of her arrival. With an effort, the wizard placed the guard upon his tongue, reassuring them that she was a young maiden, and beautiful, and did not appear to be a threat.

And then the artist’s voice sounded from his crystal, and they all fell silent. The man who loved Rika had been reticent ever since she had blinded him and left, speaking little to his friends lest they draw from him more truth than he wished to share. Nevertheless, they looked to him still. He suggested that only one sent by Rika could have passed the spells the wizard had woven around her home, and that she was to be considered as one of them, and they accepted it. He asked the maiden to remain in Rika’s home, until they could find the mysterious voice who had led her there, until they could be sure all of Rika’s secrets were protected, and she agreed. The artist fell silent once more, and those Rika had gathered welcomed the stranger among them.

Over the days that followed, she won the friendship of all of them. Her voice often sounded through the crystal shards, laughing or serious by turns. The wizard found it pleasant to hear, and even when he was too busy to speak with her, he listened as she talked with the others. He thought that the music of her voice helped him focus on his work, and if he stopped to talk with her frequently, he worked more swiftly for it. At least, so he willingly deceived himself.

He asked her once what her name truly was, and what she knew of magic – but lightly. His desire for the answer the living shadows sought was strong, but he feared she would grow defensive. The maiden was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “I cannot tell you,” she said. “Perhaps one day, when we know each other better…” With that, the wizard was as content as he could be, having given his peace to the living shadows: the longing to see his brother once more was first in his heart, but he would not deny how much he enjoyed her company.

Her merry wits perfectly reflected those he had assumed himself; together, they piled whimsy upon frivolity until their conversation became so elaborate a fantasy that the others had no more hope of understanding than they had of flying, and called them both mad. He wondered, at times, if she would be able to answer the maze of riddles around his tower, and if she could equally have understood the man he might have been, had he not bargained with the living shadows years ago.

The living shadows that clustered about him whispered that he was falling behind, that he was not dedicated enough in their service. The wizard ignored them; there was enough time to complete his research before the stars would align correctly. He wished to understand how the maiden had been led to Rika’s house, and what force had broken through his spells, and why the living shadows knew so little of her, and what she thought of him, and whether she was safe, and a hundred questions more. He was creating a cat who would read the maiden’s heart and keep her company while she dwelt alone in Rika’s house, when the chatelaine’s voice sounded from the crystal.

In some confusion and disquiet, she told the wizard of a missive she had received. It had been bundled with others that a courier from the king had given her, but instead of the royal seal, it had been marked with the sigil of the eye. The courier claimed that it had never been given to him. When opened, it proved to be an invitation, couched in vague terms, to a never-ending festival in a world made new. The wizard did not find the missive as unsettling as the chatelaine did, but her unease made him uneasy; she was a practical and level-minded woman, not given to small fears.

The actor reported that he had found a similar letter, among the expressions of esteem and tactful requests for dalliance that he received from his admirers; one appeared among the petitions to the lord; and the apprentice, who did not receive much correspondence, woke up one morning to find one on his pillow. It appeared that the maiden had not received one, and the wizard… well, he believed his tower was too well protected for any mysterious missives to insinuate themselves past his defences. He yielded to the concerns of his friends, however, and tried to ascertain whence the letters had come. It was not a simple spell, given the distance between himself and the nearest of them, his own longing to hear the maiden’s voice – and it was shattered completely when the living shadows spoke to him.

“Your spell has been subverted, wizard. Another hand may destroy Rika’s house with your magic.”

“Who-?” he asked, but he was already panicked into movement, throwing grimoires and potions into a bag, and calling the Four Wonderful Horses. He would ride through the night – he had to reach the maiden and take her to safety. Why hadn’t he unmade the spell after Rika’s death?

“You cannot leave,” the living shadows said, as he put his hand to the door and the Four Wonderful Horses neighed outside. “We made a bargain.”

The wizard had never heard of a deal, once struck with the living shadows, being broken. What was given to them could never be reclaimed… or so it was said. But they had spoken of the maiden as beyond their knowledge, and they had offered to return what he had given them. There was a lie somewhere, and a lie was not enough to prevent him from saving her.

Without a word, he raced out into the wild night, and the cat who could read the maiden’s heart rode on his shoulder. The Wonderful Horse who was as dazzling as the sun lit the way for him, and the one who was as strong as the earth beat down a straight, wide road for him with its hooves, and he rode the one swift as the wind until it tired and dropped behind, and then the wizard mounted upon the Wonderful Horse who was as tireless as the sea, and rode it to the door of the house where Rika had lived, and then he heard the maiden scream from within.

The wizard burst in, and there beheld a man. In one hand, he held the wizard’s spell of destruction; with the other, he held a knife to the maiden’s throat. He was branded with the sigil of the eye, and his hair was white as snow, his eyes green as mint leaves, but the wizard knew him and called him by his name. He had bargained his face to the living shadows, but a steadfast heart will hold against all evil, and the wizard had never ceased to love his brother.

“Saeran!”

The green-eyed twin looked at the gold-eyed one, and hated him from the cold depths of his broken heart. He heard the anguish in the wizard’s voice, as false as the promises he had made to free Saeran and as selfish as abandoning a brother to be starved and tortured by a witch. He could see, also, what the wizard did not yet know: that he loved the maiden truly. And Saeran resolved that his brother would suffer as he had suffered.

“I believed that you would return for me, you know. I believed that we would be free together. Safe. Happy.”

“Saeran, I –“

“ _Lies_ ,” he hissed. “You abandoned me. You sacrificed me for power. You won power, riches, friends, by leaving your own brother to die.”

“Please-“ the wizard begged, terrified, his eyes darting between his brother and the maiden he threatened, seeking a way to save them both. “They said you’d be happy, that they’d look after you, Rika and –“

“It’s too late,” Saeran said. “I will never believe you again, and I am no longer weak.” He tightened his grasp on the threads of the spell of the destruction. “I, too, am the son of a witch, and you are not the only one who has bargained with the living shadows.” The point of the knife dug into the maiden’s throat, and blood trickled from her skin.

From the wizard’s shoulder leapt the cat who could read the maiden’s heart. The wizard had created it as companion and protector for her, and it was infuriated beyond measure that her blood had been shed. Its claws raked Saeran’s face, and as he screamed, the wizard dragged the maiden away from him.  He reached out and took the spell of destruction back under his control, and he whispered to the maiden, “Call the cat from the attack. It will answer to you.”

As she obeyed, Saeran dropped the knife to wipe blood from his face. The wizard reached out to his green-eyed twin, and tears stood in his golden eyes. “Saeran – stay – please, I was trying to save you, I would never have left otherwise – I love you –“

But cursing him and vowing vengeance, Saeran fled.

In Rika’s house, the maiden found a bandage for her throat. The cat rubbed against her legs, purring reassuringly. The wizard rewove his spells, and thought about his brother, and bargains with the living shadows, and about the maiden. He had to find Saeran again, and to make things right between them. He had traded much to the living shadows, and did not believe he could bargain much more before they owned him completely. Besides, he had broken a bargain already by leaving his tower against their will. The living shadows wanted to know about the maiden, about her name and the magic that had been laid upon her in her cradle, and why both were hidden from them. If he could discover why…

… he could see Saeran again.

… by betraying the maiden to the living shadows.

Her soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and her eyes were full of compassion and understanding. “How terribly you both must have suffered. I wish I could help –“

“Don’t,” the wizard said harshly. He did not need her to make an offer he would find it difficult to refuse; he did not want to be further tempted to use her. “Leave me alone. Let me think.”

“I will,” she said, but hesitated. “If I can help, if you need someone to listen… I’ll be waiting.” She slipped into another room.

The cat who could read her heart sat near the door, cleaning blood from its claws. Quietly it told the wizard, “She loves you.”

He said nothing, for it changed nothing, and the cat padded after the maiden. The wind blew wild through the night, and the Wonderful Horses rested, and the wizard wrestled with himself. One of the living shadows came when he called, and its voice, which was his own, was colder than ever before. “You are in our debt, wizard. The stars will align soon, and your work is not completed; you have left your tower. There are no bargains to made between us.”

“The maiden…?”

It answered slowly, “Yes. That would balance matters between us. Have you the knowledge we seek?”

The wizard shook his head.

“We will not answer until you do,” it said, and fell silent.

The wizard paced the house that had been Rika’s as he thought; he groomed the Wonderful Horses; he stood by the threshold of the room where the maiden slept. He knew, as surely as a man might know the knife buried in his side, that he loved her. He could never betray her to save himself.

But there was Saeran. They were twins, halves of a whole, and he had failed his brother so badly. Saeran’s very face was changed, but less than his heart; his brother hated him now, and justly… how could he turn his hand from any means that might save Saeran?

When the maiden woke again in the sullen dawn, the wizard was quiet and unfriendly. He busied himself with working upon the calculations he owed to the living shadows, so that he need not think about his brother or the maiden he loved. She, understanding the bleakness of his mood, sat with the cat purring on her lap, speaking to the others through the crystal, reassuring them that all was well. The wizard gave no thought to this, until he heard the voice of the artist, and rage inflamed him.

The artist seemed both relieved that the maiden was safe and alarmed that the wizard had come to the house where Rika had lived.  He tried to ask that the wizard would read nothing of what Rika had left behind her, but the wizard would not listen. He demanded that the artist explain how Saeran had been so changed by hatred, and so desperate as to bargain with the living shadows. He had left only because the living shadows had promised that Rika and the man who loved her would care for Saeran, that he would be happy.

But no matter how the wizard asked, and pleaded, and threatened, the artist gave him no answer, and soon the crystal fell silent. The friendship and gratitude the wizard had felt for the artist died, as swiftly and irrevocably as if a sword had severed them from his heart, and the wizard turned back to his work in bitterness of spirit and blackest pain.

So passed the day, and night came once more, wild and starless. The maiden stood so suddenly that the cat who could read her heart slipped yowling from her lap.

“There is something you must hear,” she told the wizard. “I think… I hope it’s not too late.”

Unpleasantly surprised by the interruption and no nearer seeing a way forward, the wizard watched as the maiden blew out the candles. Black and endless, darkness crept into the house where Rika had lived, until not even the cat’s eyes could see.

“There,” the maiden said, and the wizard understood. Where there was no light to cast them, no shadow, living or otherwise, could abide. “You asked, once, what I knew of magic. I claim none, but as I lay in my cradle, those who dwell outside laid their hands upon me.”

This was something of which the wizard had read only rumours in ancient grimoires. Those who dwell outside were creatures of different nature, who changed reality to whatever form best amused them.  If they had indeed marked the maiden, it was small wonder she was obscured from the knowledge of the living shadows. In the darkness, a small flame of hope kindled in his heart; not because he knew her secret and could bargain with it, but because it might be strong enough to free them all.

“Their touch was a promise, and a blessing, and a curse. They gave me a power of choice and of consequences, but it is incomplete.”

“I… don’t understand,” the wizard whispered, and heard her sigh.

“I was promised that there was a path of choices – one only – that leads to my heart’s desire, and so I am conscious, every moment of every day, of each choice I make. At times, though it is rare, I may recognise a mistake before I make it.” She was silent a moment. “I almost told you the first time you asked, but I could feel an abyss before me – as though my mind was ice, and there was no blood in my veins nor heart to pump it. I thought it was death.”

The words woke old memories in the wizard, nightmares of what it might be like to be among the living shadows. It was not death that had waited for her on that path, but his own treachery and the loss of all that she was. He shuddered, forcing a question from his bloodless lips. “Why tell me now?”

Her answer was soft and sure. “You will never be happy until your brother is restored to what he was, until he has forgiven you and loves you once more. And your happiness is my heart’s desire, for I love you.”

Had he known her name, he would have called it; had there been light, he would have taken her hands in his and kissed them.  As the darkness lay upon them, all he could do was repeat her words.

“So,” she said, and he could hear her voice faltering, as though she wept silently, “you needed to know. You’ll tell me the choices you intend to make, and I will make them with you, and together we will save your brother.” He heard her sob, and the wizard stumbled through the darkness to fold her in his arms. “I hope… forgive me if I ever made a mistake before I met you. I have been foolish all my days, and my choices are not always clear…”

And the wizard comforted her, as she comforted him in turn, and she told him her name, and he kissed it from her lips, and they began to find a way forward.

Now, one of the ten thousand arcane secrets the wizard knew was that anyone who drew the sigil of the eye correctly could use that sigil as though it were their own eye; and another was that anyone who knew the correct spell could look back through it at the caster. So he spoke through the crystal to the lord, the chatelaine, the actor and the apprentice, and he asked for the mysterious letters they had received. He sent the Four Wonderful Horses out – the one as strong as the earth to the lord, the one as tireless as the sea to the chatelaine, the one as dazzling as the sun to the actor, and the one as swift as the wind to the apprentice. As the Wonderful Horses raced through the night, he explained to his friends who Saeran was and how the artist had betrayed the twins long years ago.

There were some among them who had doubted the artist before - the apprentice had even blamed him for the death of Rika, his cousin – and others who had not. The lord had known and trusted the artist all his life. But all were shocked by what the wizard told them, and all agreed to help. The maiden spoke to them as the wizard rummaged through the books Rika had left behind her, searching for whatever secrets the artist had tried to hide.

The wizard found the papers which detailed how Rika had arranged the festivals, the grimoires in which she had gained her small knowledge and practiced her small power, and a book of the living shadows, near identical to the one she had given him so long ago. He found small tokens of the artist’s love: withered roses, old letters, and a painting of her. Finally, at the bottom of a hidden drawer, he found a pile of papers. They were in Rika’s own hand, but they were nothing the Rika he had known would have written: logistics for the raising and training of an army, recipes for potions that would subvert the drinker’s will, a manifesto of destruction, an invitation similar to those his friends had received, and, finally, a map. It marked a secret trail to a fortress hidden deep in the mountains.

As the wizard wondered over these, the Wonderful Horse who was swift as the wind returned, bearing with it the letter the apprentice had received. He cast his spell upon it, and looked through the sigil of the eye. He saw there his brother Saeran. He was kneeling among others as a figure in robes passed among them, and they spoke with one voice. “The evils of the world are inherent in the world. Let the world itself be unmade, and a kinder one, free of evil, rise in its place. Let there be an unending festival in the world made new.”

The wizard could not see the face of the one who had brought Saeran to his knees, but he could see a window, and the mountains outside. He knew, then, that his brother was in the hidden fortress, and that Rika had held many secrets, and that the artist had sought to prevent him from learning them. He watched a moment more, for even changed as he was, the sight of his brother was balm to his heart – but it was a moment too long. The mint-green eyes widened, and Saeran saw him in return.

“Break the spell!” the maiden cried. “We have to go _now_!”

The wizard obeyed, casting the letter on the fire, and then the Wonderful Horse who was swift as the wind bore them and the cat who could read the maiden’s heart into the night. As they raced toward the mountains and the hidden fortress, the other Wonderful Horses found them, and the wizard destroyed the letters marked with the sigil of the eye.

They came to the base of the mountains, where the secret trail began, and there they encountered the first guard whom Saeran had placed: a hydra. Its many heads snapped at them, but the Wonderful Horse who was tireless as the sea neighed a challenge and engaged it in battle. The hydra tired with every strike, but the Wonderful Horse was tireless. The wizard, the maiden, and the Wonderful Horses slipped past as the hydra began to fall, wearied to death.

As they climbed the mountains, they came to a river, and there they encountered the second guard whom Saeran had placed: a chimera. Its goat head tossed its horns, its serpent head spat poison, and its lion head roared, but the Wonderful Horse who was strong as the earth neighed a challenge and engaged it in battle. The chimera was strong as a lion, but the Wonderful Horse was stronger. The wizard, the maiden, and the Wonderful Horses slipped past as the chimera began to fall, trampled to death.

Beyond the river, they entered a dark maze of caves, and within they encountered the third guard whom Saeran had placed: a basilisk. Its scaled head bore a crown and to meet its eyes was death, but the Wonderful Horse who was dazzling as the sun neighed a challenge and engaged it in battle. The basilisk’s eyes were wide, but the Wonderful Horse blazed so brightly it could not see them. The wizard, the maiden, and the Wonderful Horses slipped past as the basilisk began to fall, blinded to death.

They emerged from the caves onto the mountain-top, and in the distance they could see the fortress. There was a gout of flame as they encountered the final guard whom Saeran had placed: a dragon. The weight of its footsteps was like an earthquake, and the heat of its flame like a desert, but the Wonderful Horse who was swift as the wind neighed a challenge and engaged it in battle. The dragon’s fire was deadly, but the Wonderful Horse was so swift that the dragon’s breath could not catch it. Then the horse lingered by the dragon’s tail until the dragon tried to burn it, then dashed away so that its flame scorched only itself. The wizard, the maiden, and the Wonderful Horses slipped past as the dragon began to fall, burning to death.

Then, as the first streaks of sunrise brightened the sky, the Wonderful Horse bore them to the portcullis of the hidden fortress, and there, waiting for them, was the artist whom Rika had loved. He was pale as stone, and he turned his eyeless face upon them. “I once foretold that you would curse me for giving you the book of living shadows. That day has dawned.”

“ _What did you do to Saeran?”_ the wizard cried. Flinging himself from the back of the Wonderful Horse, he seized the artist by the throat. “I trusted you!”

The artist hung limp in his grasp, unresisting: he said only, “I have well earned your hate. Everything that has befallen your brother is my fault. I do not seek forgiveness. Only pass within, where you are expected, and where you will find him.”

The wizard cursed the artist to torment unending and dropped him; the maiden dismounted and came to his side, the cat at her heels and her crystal in her hand, and the Wonderful Horses pawed the ground restlessly. “Hurry,” the maiden urged, and the wizard did, and the artist picked himself up and followed them into the hidden fortress. Guards, flanking the doorways and brandishing shining scimitars, watched them closely, and each was marked with the sigil of the eye. The wizard reached out to the maiden, who took his hand, and together they walked into the Great Hall.

There they saw Rika, whom the wizard had believed dead, seated on a throne and garbed like an empress. By her side stood Saeran, and his mint-green eyes were fastened on his brother, and his mouth was twisted in hatred.

“Welcome,” said Rika. “You have finally accepted my invitation. I’m glad. We will destroy this evil world together.”

“Rika! What happened to you? We all believed you dead –“ and the wizard looked on the artist, who had lied, and lied again, and knew he was to blame, but nothing made complete sense –

And the maiden looked still at Rika, and she asked, “What did you do to Saeran?”

And Rika ignored her, but now the wizard saw plainly the darkness that had waited within her. He saw the emptiness where her heart had been, and the void left behind when she had bargained her sanity to the living shadows, and he recognised the cold and seductive voice of despair. He knew the spell by which Saeran had tied the army to Rika, and realised that the artist had never possessed the knowledge to unlock his brother’s power.

Rika, it was all Rika… and he could not see how to defeat her.  She had Saeran at her side and an army around them, while all he had to set against her were his ten thousand arcane secrets, a cat who could read hearts, and an incomplete power of choice that did not answer to him. His friends were far away, and the Four Wonderful Horses were outside the fortress and could not reach them easily. The living shadows would not even answer him now, not unless he betrayed the maiden he loved to them – and that he would not do. He had to protect her.

Rika spoke to her army. “Let the evils of these three be cleansed so that they may serve me.”

“No,” said Saeran. “You promised that I could take my vengeance upon the brother who abandoned me. He has no place in the new, kinder world we will make. Give him to me.”

Rika shook her head. “No,” she told him in turn. “He is the elder twin, and his power is greater than yours. He has bargained more wisely with the living shadows. I gave you a chance to defeat him, and you only proved yourself inferior instead.”

“I have served you faithfully!” Saeran cried in anguish. “Do not betray me!”

“You serve my will,” Rika said, and darkness crackled about her fingertips.

The wizard knew that spell, and what it would do to the brother he loved. Without hesitation, he threw himself between Rika and Saeran. The vicious thorns wrapped around his heart, and he cried out as they pierced him – but he knew that they would have pried Saeran’s broken heart apart entirely. “You… will not take him… again,” he forced out, fighting to stay upright. His brother was behind him, and he could see the maiden he loved, and he prayed to endure until they were both safe –

Even as a steadfast heart will hold against all evil, the wizard’s sacrifice kindled a small flame in the cold of Saeran’s broken heart. He remembered how he had believed his brother would never abandon him, how he had been persuaded that his brother had broken his promise. Hatred warred with the small flame of remembered love, and the battle was fierce and confusing; he did not know where to turn.

The cry of a cat drew his attention, as it leapt into the arms of the maiden – and Saeran’s mint-green eyes alighted on the artist. Him! Rika had loved him once, and Saeran hated him still. It would hurt her, as her betrayal hurt him – it would be vengeance – she would keep her promise with him gone – he had let his brother enter the fortress – he had to die and then, and then –

In the seconds it took Saeran to weave his spell, the wizard saw the artist look at Rika and his lips move. Then icy blackness engulfed them all for an instant, and when it cleared, the artist lay lifeless on the floor.

Rika screamed.

The thorns lifted from about the wizard’s heart as she stared at the artist’s body. Her army waited for her word.

The maiden rushed to the wizard’s side, and a soft frost spread from the shadows, riming over everyone in the Great Hall save the two of them. The wizard kissed the maiden, in love and in farewell; the stars had aligned, and his work was not complete. The living shadows were coming for him now. Once more he begged for Saeran’s forgiveness, but his brother was frozen and could not hear him.

“You must listen,” said the living shadow. Cast upon the wall, it was tall and wavering, and its voice was strange: not the wizard’s own made cold, but another’s. “There is not much time left, and there is an imbalance between us that must be redressed.”

“I know,” said the wizard, and he held the maiden closer.

“The living shadows deal in information, and your choice to bargain with us was based on inaccurate and incomplete information. Rika… lied to you. Every bargain may be undone, and there are matters beyond our knowledge.”

“What does that mean?” the maiden asked.

“Saeran and yourself, wizard… Rika. You bargained piece by piece. That man,“ it said, pointing to the fallen artist, “gave us everything he was, at once.  With the existing imbalances, it allows for a reordering. By his will, when the frost recedes, all that the three of you gave will be returned to you. Wizard: you will have your name again, your joy, your honesty, your peace, and be free of any further obligation to us.”

He shook his head, in incredulous joy: he had never believed that this could come to pass.

“Saearan will regain his own face and his strength, and he will once again be able to know peace and trust,” the living shadow continued. “But be warned: not all of the changes in him were made by bargains. Rika broke his heart and poisoned his body. It will take much time, and more love, before he will be all he may be.”

“He will have it,” the wizard vowed, love and happiness burning bright within him. Finally, after so many years, his promises would be kept: they would walk out into the sunlight together, free of chains, and nobody would ever hurt Saeran again

“And Rika…” When the living shadow said her name, its voice was less cold. “Among everything else, she will regain her sanity and her heart. She will be guarded. But there will always be a darkness within her. And she has spoken in the voice of despair so long, her true voice is all but lost.”

The wizard cared not: he was too full of joy to hate her for all that she had done to Saeran, but he could not sorrow for any misfortune that might befall her.

“There is one thing more,” the living shadow said. “Part of the bargain made was a message. That one,” it said, and indicated the artist once more, “wished that you could know how bitterly he regretted his mistakes: how his love for Rika blinded him, and that he broke faith with you and failed to protect Saeran for her sake. His sacrifice was the only reparation he could make, and he hoped it would be enough.”

Before the wizard could say anything more, the frost faded, and the living shadow was there no longer.

Saeyoung threw his arms about his brother, as he had longed to do ever since they had been parted, and all his sorrow and regret and loneliness and love poured out in soft, half-broken words. Red-haired Saeran fought him, but he listened, and all unconsciously, he let many of the spells he had made for Rika unravel.

Into the Great Hall burst the lord and his knights, who had heard all much of what passed through the maiden’s crystal and had come as quickly as they could along the broad, flat road the Wonderful Horse who was strong as the earth had trampled with its passing. They gathered together those who had been Rika’s army, and were now, without Saeran’s spell tying them to Rika, bemused at what they had done. The lord pledged to return them to their families, and with Saeyoung and the maiden, began to dismantle all that had been done.

Rika, it was agreed, would be given into the care of her cousin, the apprentice. Nobody in the Great Hall saw that the shadow at her heels was not her own, but that of the artist who had loved her.

Saeyoung took Saeran back to the tower, and there began the work of healing his broken heart. It was difficult and dangerous, for Saeran felt himself lost without the purpose Rika had given him, and had believed that killing Saeyoung was the only way to ease the pain of his twin’s betrayal. But, in time, he learned to trust Saeyoung, and to love him again. The lord, the chatelaine, the actor and the apprentice accepted him among them.

And so it was that Saeran was freed at last, and he rejoiced at his brother’s joy when Saeyoung and the maiden were married.

 

 

 


End file.
